


Teenage Dream

by Poppedthep



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Homophobic Language, M/M, Soft Boys, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-07-08 01:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppedthep/pseuds/Poppedthep
Summary: Highschool AU. Brock transfers to a school in Florida for his senior year.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning - use of gross offensive homophobic slurs. 
> 
> Have obviously lessened their age difference so they can be in high school together. And in this verse Drag Race started about 5 years earlier. Also haven't explained why Brock would have moved to Florida, let's just accept that he did - this is all a leap of imagination anyway!
> 
> I wrote this out quickly just cuz I wanted this AU to exist - I don’t have time to write a whole long thing of it so it’s just a little one shot but I love the idea if anyone wants to be inspired by this and run with it! 
> 
> We can partially credit this to the picture of baby Brock frowning shyly in a ballet outfit on Brooke’s insta the other day with the caption "A gay one since day 1".
> 
> The usual disclaimer - all these characters are inspired by real people but completely fictional!

“Look at the little faggot,”

Brock keeps his head down, keeps walking. These jocks are not worth his time or attention. He breathes through his nose in and out, in and out.

“Look at his pansy ass walk.”

He can hear them mocking him, doing impressions of him behind him.

It’s just words. If he just ignores it, it doesn’t have to get any worse than words. They don’t matter anyway. They’re just sad losers who’ll be stuck in their sad small minded world their whole lives. Soon he’ll be out of here, performing, travelling the world.

“Look at him shaking his perverted ass tryna get us to fuck him,”

Brock breathes in and out and tries to walk straighter, move his hips less. He refuses to hunch and fuck up the posture he’s worked so hard for but he tries to hold his shoulders still, stop them gliding smoothly through the air like they do when he dances.

“He thinks he the shit. Look at him.”

More impressions of him, high pitched noises, cruel laughter. They’re still following him. Kids he passes along the hallway turn to look at him, and turn away. He breathes in and out, mind blank with panic. Like everything in Florida so far, bullies were not this intense in Canada.

“That’s sick, dude. Who'd go near that nasty queer ass? You'd catch shit. Wouldn’t fuck that with your dad's dick, McKellen.”

They crack up laughing, whooping and hollering.

Their opinion of him doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care about anything they have to say. He does not need their acceptance. Audiences will love him. People in New York or Toronto will be like him and he'll find them soon and belong there. His acne will clear and he'll be pretty. There will be boys who think he's cute. There is nothing wrong with being gay. He is perfectly fine the way he is. He’s a star. He is worth a hundred of them. Someone will love him one day. The back of his throat burns. He is not gonna cry.

He reaches his locker and a hand slams in front of him. Three jocks surround him, and while 90% of his brain is intimidated, terrified they’re going to hit him, there’s 10% that is mesmerized by their heaving chests. This is the first time he’s been so close to boys this muscular. Everything is bigger in Florida, apparently.

“Don’t get too close, he might go for your dick. Look at his face. He wants you, Cody. That’s sick.”

They all laugh and nudge the jock closest to him and it makes Brock feel dirty even though he knows, he _knows_ they are the ones who are wrong not him.

He meets the eyes of the guy closest and wishes he could tell him how little he cares about their opinion but the words catch in his throat, he hates confrontation, and instead --

“Ahh he’s crying.”

Laughter, loud, cruel.

“We made the little fag cry.”

“We ain’t even do nothing to you, fucking pussy."

"You cry like that when a dick’s going up your ass faggot?”

Brock cringes, tries to swallow down his tears. It makes him gulp and splutter, which is worse. They look genuinely disgusted.

"Yo, that's what he sounds like when he's choking on a dick."

They nudge each other and laugh, mime gagging him with thrusts and crude hand gestures. 

Why do they have to make it sound so gross?

When Brock strokes himself exploratorily he likes to think about a dick in his mouth, it makes him warm and excited inside.

Why do they have to make his special private thoughts sound so nasty and wrong?

He inhales shakily, tears rolling down his cheeks and it fuels their laughter. 

Why does he still get so pathetically overwhelmed by his emotions? He was supposed to be getting better at this. He promised himself he wasn't gonna cry in Florida.

“Hey!” a loud, gruff voice cuts sharply through their laughter, commanding their attention.

It’s so low and gravelly Brock thinks it’s a teacher at first, panics he’s gonna get in trouble barely into the first semester at his new school. He only has to make it through senior year, ace the National Ballet School auditions, and he’s out of here.

When the jocks turn and move he sees it’s not a teacher. It’s one of the boys from the dance team. He looks tiny for a voice like that to have come out of but brimming full of attitude. He’s surrounded by a group of about ten beautiful girls, and another boy, all in their team uniform. He thinks they’re in the year below, he hasn’t seen them in any of his classes.

The effect of their presence is immediate. The jocks’ attention goes over to the group and it’s clear they all want to impress at least one of the pretty girls.

Brock loves his penis and his strong body but he thinks, not for the first time, how much easier his life would have been if he’d been born a pretty girl.

None of the girls look particularly impressed, clustered around the little Latino boy who shouted. He has his arms folded, lips pursed, eyebrow raised in cool disapproval, at the center of the group like the Queen Bee.

“Y’all better back the fuck offa him or you know I’m bout ta whoop y’all bitch asses,” he clicks his tongue.

He sounds so hood it’s like he’s in a movie. Brock never met anyone who spoke like that in Canada.

He also sounds more effeminate than Brock would ever dare be openly at school. But the jocks don’t call him out on it. They look caught out, posturing in front of the girls who are giving them judgemental unimpressed looks.

The boy with his arms folded looks fiery, ferocious, fists clenched, like he’d go down kicking, but he’s so petite there’s no way he’d actually win a fight with three jocks, so it’s just his presence he’s commanding with, but it’s effective.

“Ain’t y'all got some _balls_ to play with? Lord knows y'all clumsy bitches need the fuckin practice,” the boy sasses like he’s not at all afraid. The girls laugh.

A beautiful Latina closest to the boy’s shoulder bats her eyes at the jock who had his hand on Brock’s locker.

“If you give us something nice to look at, we might come watch,” she purrs, eyebrows raised, just as confident as the boy.

“Leave the new kid alone, fuckers, he ain’t do nothing to you,” another girl says, wearing giant hoops and lots of chains around her neck. She looks like she could win in a fight, aggressive energy radiating off her.

Everyone in Florida is so intimidatingly confident, Brock is still not used to it.

Brock thinks the jocks are going to say he did do something to them, he walked by being a fag, which was reason enough for them. But the fiery kid at the front of the group clicks his tongue again imperiously and Brock looks at the jocks and knows they wouldn’t say that to him.

“We was just playing, relax,” a jock says, already retreating.

“That shit ain’t cute, Cody,” the beautiful Latina says. “It’s gross.”

“See you girls at practice then, yeah?” says another as they start to move away, brushing close past the girls on their way.

“Maybe,” says the beautiful one, shrugging in an aloof way Brock envies and wants to steal.

One of the jocks slaps the ass of one of the quieter girls as he leaves and she blushes and giggles. The two who spoke and the boy roll their eyes, unimpressed.

“Watch your manners, fuckin hoodlum,” the aggressive girl calls after them.

Brock feels like he can breathe easier as they disappear down the corridor.

The group from the dance team are looking at him now and he wants to thank them but they’re just as intimidating, if not more. He’s completely awed by them.

The boy who seems to be the ringleader comes over. His whole aggressive stance relaxes as he gets close and looks up into Brock’s eyes.

“You all right?” he asks, voice softer than Brock would have imagined it could get.

Peering up close, Brock lets himself properly look at him.

He’s gorgeous. Maybe the prettiest boy Brock has ever seen in real life. Sharp cheekbones, full lips. His smooth skin glows, his lashes flutter heavily, accentuated with a touch of mascara, his brows are drawn sharply. Brock would never dare wear make up to school like that but seeing a boy wearing it and looking so beautiful hits him deep in a place of longing. A gold earring dangles from his ear, and a cuff is around the cartilage, matching the gold chain around his neck. He smirks with a confidence that makes Brock want to fall on his knees for him.

Brock swallows, breathless.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he breathes.

The boy blinks up at him, soft and pretty and encouraging. He's handsome and soft at the same time. His pouty lips shine with gloss and Brock is mesmerized.

“Ignore them dumbasses, they ain’t got a clue between them, baby.”

Brock wipes the last of his tears away and nods. God, he feels so ashamed at how easily he cries. He's been trying so hard to get better at that.

The beautiful Latina from the group comes close too and wraps an arm around Brock’s shoulders, the others gravitating after them to circle around.

“You new, babe?” she asks kindly. She smells overwhelmingly of flowery perfume.

Like the boy she is even prettier up close, though in a way Brock envies rather than making his stomach flip. The other boy in the group, quieter, hands him a tissue and Brock smiles gratefully.

“Thanks. Yeah. Kind of. I’ve been here about three weeks now.”

Three long, scary, friendless weeks. Brock is a lot of fun and perfectly social with people he knows. Silly, goofy, very affectionate with his good friends. But very intimidated by new social situations. Especially when he knows he can't be fully himself because it's dangerous.

“Ab _ou_ t?” The boy echoes the way he said it, surprised and laughing.

“Bitch, you Canadian?”

“Yeah,” Brock blushes, hoping he’s not about to get teased by another group of people for something else he can’t control.

But he doesn’t think he is. They seem kind. He almost auditioned for the dance team when he saw the school had one but it’s not really his style of dance and he wouldn’t have a lot of time for it with all the ballet classes he does. Now he’s regretting that he didn’t.

“Oh, Canada,” the boy mock-swoons, making all the whole group laugh and shove him playfully. It’s obvious he’s the joker of the group, as well as the ringleader, with his huge presence.

He sees Brock isn’t laughing and stops, concerned.

“Wait. Babe, you like boys, right?” he asks, point blank, looking at Brock expectantly.

Brock’s mouth goes dry. Should he admit it? No one has ever asked him outright like that. Like they want to know what pizza toppings he prefers. He’s never actually admitted it out loud to anyone, not even his parents. Never kissed a boy or done anything outside of his own imagination. Even though he knows for certain that he is.

What the hell. He’s already being called faggot, it’s not like they can’t tell. At least these people seem to be being nice to him.

“Um, yeah,” he almost whispers, so soft he’s surprised the boy can hear it. But he does, and his eyes light up.

“Okay, good,” he grins, pleased.

“I ain’t tryna flirt with no straight boy,” he holds his hands up innocently, so easy and relaxed about it Brock can see why even those homophobic jocks are able to feel unthreatened around him. “That ain’t my jush.”

The girls around him elbow him, muttering, “Ooo! Daaamn! Jose got a crush!” All giggly and squealing.

He elbows back looking at them pointedly muttering, “Bitch, have you _seen_ him?”

And all right in front of Brock, like they don’t care that he hears.

Brock blushes even deeper. Being kind because he recognises something in him is one thing. There’s no way this handsome dainty charismatic guy actually has a crush on big, awkward Brock.

“Y’all shut up,” the boy -- Jose -- pushes the girls away, “I’ma kill you, whores.”

He rolls his eyes conspiratorially at Brock.

“Don’t be a stranger, Canada,” he winks. "Let a bitch know if you want some _orientation_." He wiggles his eyebrows and everyone laughs again. He starts to back away down the hall, maybe a little embarrassed himself, and the group follows.

Brock doesn’t want them to go, not yet. Not when they’re the closest he’s had to friends in this big intimidating American school. Not when the boy’s eyes sparkle wickedly like that when he looks at him.

“Wait,” he calls and the boy turns around with a raised eyebrow, making the girls giggle and nudge him again.

“Uh, I’m Brock,” he holds his hand out hopefully. The boy is too far away now to reach out for it but he smiles warmly and comes back to take his hand. Brock feels very awkward and overly formal. It’s obvious these people are cool and he’s offering his hand like some sort of business man.

“Jose,” the boy says softly, squeezing his hand, the pitch of his voice rising adorably. His hands are so soft and his short nails are painted sparkly silver.

“Como estas Brock?” he says, high pitched and breathy, playing up to the group, lingering over Brock's name and not letting go of his hand, making his friends crack up laughing.

His expression softens when he sees Brock’s face.

“Bitch don’t get pressed. I’m only playin. You fine as hell. I’m shook, baby,” he elbows Brock, smiling.

“Uh, thanks,” Brock mumbles shyly, trying his best to smile and not look shell shocked.

A boy -- a very cute, kind, funny boy -- is flirting with him. A boy knows Brock is gay and is openly inviting him to flirt.

Brock feels opportunities opening up to him that he’s never had before.

Jose is magnetic. Brock wants to find out everything about him. Wants to keep this hand in his and link their fingers.

His eyes dart to Jose’s full shiny lips. He wants to kiss him, to see what that feels like. He wants to put gloss on his own lips too and mess it up against Jose’s in sticky kisses.

He wants to ask Jose to paint his nails, ask him to show him how to draw his brows like that. Brock’s brows are horribly bushy. He sneaks into his mom’s room to borrow her tweezers in secret. Has to force himself to walk away from the soft floaty material of the dresses in her closet. Jose would look pretty in dresses.

Jose would look pretty in anything.

Brock has so many questions he’s never been able to ask about what being gay means and how to do it right because he's never acknowledged it out loud to someone before. This confident boy who is wearing make up at school and telling jocks off and asking Brock openly if he likes boys, telling him he likes him in front of all his friends, not afraid to say anything plainly -- he might be able to answer them.

All Brock knows of what happens between boys he’s picked up in silvers from overheard comments and the internet when he could sneak a moment of privacy. He wants to learn for himself what boys do together. Wants Jose to teach him. The thought of that makes his stomach drop.

Jose is looking at him, considering. Brock spreads his his chest wide like he's in a low first position and tries not to squirm under the appraisal. 

“Brock, these thirsty hos wanna go perv on them jock asses. But I got my eye candy right here. Wanna walk that Canadian bacon behind the bleachers with me?”

Brock doesn’t know what happens behind the bleachers but there's nothing he wants more in the world right now than to find out.

“Um, yeah. That’d be nice.”

The girls all whoop and the pretty Latina loops her arm through his affectionately as he joins them to walk outside, peppering him with questions about himself while Jose smiles at him and rolls his eyes.

After three weeks of loneliness and hurrying, eyes down, through hallways, Brock absolutely melts into the warmth of walking with a large friendly group.

Suddenly Brock isn’t so keen to get out of Florida as soon as possible anymore.

///

Sat in the grass under the bleachers Brock is warm, even out of the direct heat of the Florida sun. Some of that might be to do with how closely Jose is watching him.

He didn’t know what to expect, his mind anxiously jumping to everything he's ever heard whispered about what gay people do, heart thudding harder and harder. He had to remind himself to breathe, in and out, as the field came into sight and they waved goodbye to the girls and the other boy and headed off just the two of them to the shady grass behind the seats. 

So far it’s actually just a nice wholesome conversation. Even if Jose is looking at him like he could eat him right up.

He pulls up grass by the roots and tells Brock confidently about his friends, the dance team, the things he needs to know as the new kid at school -- which cafeteria food to avoid, which teachers let you get away with a little sass, who is friendly, who to steer clear of. When he gets to the jocks who were harassing Brock, he says,

“They ain’t too bad long as you tell ‘em how it is. You gotta let em know you ain’t gonna take no shit."

Brock has been bullied his whole life, though usually more subtly (thanks, America) so he understands this in theory but finds it hard to actually do. He doesn’t know if Jose realizes the power he commands, his natural charisma, his insane ability to win people over. Especially the power he holds with the jocks by drawing all those female friends to him that they want to impress.

The more he thinks about it he’s sure Jose does know. In fact, maybe it’s intentional. Maybe the charm is something he’s developed, his way of coping, his secret weapon, like Brock has been trying to train himself to be aloof.

He’s already called himself dumb twice in conversation but he sounds pretty smart and clued up to Brock.

"It's not that easy for me," Brock mumbles, worried he's disappointing him. 

"Baby it ain't easy for no one," Jose commiserates.

He tells Brock about fist fights he got into as a kid. Going home with a bleeding lip and bruised knuckles every day because as soon as someone said something about how feminine he was he'd hit them for it. His fists clench as he talks and although he's small it's clear he's got a powerful temper. Brock can't imagine recklessly putting himself in danger like that. There's something very masculine about it in a really primal way. It makes Brock's blood hot even while he thinks it's kind of crazy. Brock can see why anyone who had anything to say about him eventually developed a grudging respect, moved on to easier targets.

Jose shows him the little scar above his eyebrow from where he was fighting in a yard and fell on glass, and Brock has to lean in close to see it.

“I really like your eyes,” he says, scared to even breathe this close to him. Jose bats them coyly.

“I mean the makeup. Not that I don’t...your eyes are pretty too…” he fumbles and Jose laughs kindly at him.

“Will you show me how to do that?” he asks, hopeful.

“Sure baby,” Jose grins. “I’ma work for MAC one day,” he says with complete certainty.

He crawls over to his bag and pulls out a mascara. Leans over Brock, hands touching his face, making Brock's pulse race. 

“In Orlando, bitch. The one in Macy's," he says proudly. Then adds,

"Look down," waiting for Brock to comply.

As badly as he longs for Jose to make his eyes prettier, to show him something from a world he wants desperately to know, Brock wonders if it's a bad idea to put mascara on at school, walk around with it openly. Go home with it.

But he looks into Jose's face, his eager eyes, remembers the ferocity in them when Jose clenched his fists, and he feels like if Jose is there maybe he can do anything.

So he lowers his lids. He feels the wand glide up through his lashes, Jose wiggling it side to side, hand resting on his cheek, as he talks, soft with concentration,

"I do looks on all the girls. Been watching all the youtube videos. Gettin my wing liner skills right. And them MAC interview experience ones, I know all the questions. Done practise all my answers and shit. Bitch, I’ma nail it. Look up," Brock does and Jose wiggles the mascara wand across his bottom lashes.

He crawls back over to his bag and pulls out a mirror, hands it to Brock so he can see, grinning at him hopefully. 

"Like it?" 

Brock's breath catches when he sees himself. 

"I love it," Brock smiles at his reflection, heart pounding, twisting his face side to side. His blue eyes pop like he never could have imagined, even more striking. He doesn't just look like an awkward boy, his eyes look -- pretty.

"You look good," Jose smiles.

"Thanks," His neck disappears into his shoulders with his shy smile. He's never felt prettier.

Jose looks pleased with himself.

"I'm real creative. Makeup artist-backup dancer, that’s what I’ma be. Real artistic type a ho.”

"Do other boys wear makeup like this here? You know, to school?" Brock can't stop looking at himself in the mirror. He wishes he could look like this every day. Wishes he could put on even more. A full face of it, like girls do. His cheekbones would look so pretty with highlight.

Jose shrugs, "Fuck if I know. I don't give a fuck if they do. I'm unique, bitch."

Brock smiles, unable to argue with that, but he doesn't look up, still fascinated by how long his lashes look when he blinks. 

"Oh she likes it all right," when he does look up Jose is watching him with a teasing smile. "You ever watch Drag Race? They got that shit in Canada?"

Brock shakes his head. Canada might have it but it's certainly never been on in his house.

"Bitch you gotta. It's sickening. Them hos turn some _looks_. Last season there was this bitch, Alexis. She from Florida. Like, Orlando, real close. And now she on TV. Puerto Rican too, like me, bitch. I'ma meet her one day. I read her Wikipedia, that bitch do pageants, she gon need dancers. When I'm livin my lil Orlando Macboy jush, bitch, I'ma meet that ho." 

Jose's eyes dance with excitement, so sure of his plans Brock can't help but believe he'll do everything he says he will. He doesn't fully know what Jose is talking about but he wants to soak everything Jose has to tell him up like a sponge, until he's so full of it he can be part of his shiny pretty world.

"New season starting soon. Come over and watch it sometime if you like," Jose smiles easily. 

Brock has either made his first friend in Florida or is being asked on a date and either one makes him giddy with excitement. 

He imagines himself with Jose in his house. Would they be allowed in his room alone with the door shut? Or would they stay downstairs? He wonders what his family is like. He wants to know everything about him. Wants to tell him everything about himself. 

“Okay, yeah. I'd like that. I'm gonna be a dancer too,” Brock smiles shyly, handing him back the mirror.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. Ballet. Professionally. I’m preparing for auditions for conservatories next year.”

“Bitch really?” Jose is excited, his eyes dancing. "You good?"

"Yeah," Brock nods, more confident about that than anything else.

"Yeah, I bet you are," he looks Brock up and down, “Mmhmm I see you, twinkle toes."

Brock flushes with pleasure at the nickname. He's blushing so often it's gonna look like he's sunburnt.

"Bitch, that’s great.” Jose hits Brock lightly. “You shoulda tried out for the team. We ain’t got no ballerinas.”

“Uh, I don’t think it’s really my style. I’d be very Julia Stiles in Save The Last Dance, you know?” he does the awkward Julia Stiles bop from the film and Jose throws his head back cackling. "Very that."

He can see a triangle of Jose’s golden chest beneath the chains where his shirt hangs open. He could have sworn it wasn’t that open when he first saw him.

Jose’s dangling earring glints in the sun that reaches them through the slats in the bleachers. He's so handsome. He looks like a boy from a music video.

Brock lets himself look at him, appreciate him openly, in a way he’s never done in front of a boy before.

Jose's eyes twinkle back at him, enjoying the attention, and it feels indescribably good. He's part of it all. He's sat here with a handsome boy and he's allowed to look and enjoy it.

He smiles shyly and leans back on his hands, grass between his fingers, feeling the most comfortable he has so far in Florida. Maybe ever in his life.

Nervous, though, too. Butterflies in his stomach, mouth dry, palms would be sweating if they weren’t on the grass nervous.

He hasn't forgotten they're behind the bleachers. Or the innuendos Jose made everyone crack up laughing with as they were walking over.

He always imagined he’d be a famous successful ballerina before he ever got around to talking to boys like this, and that would somehow magically take care of the fact that he doesn’t know where to put his limbs or what to say, without him having to learn the hard way.

Jose puts a hand on top of his and he jolts involuntarily at the contact.

“Bitch you don’t got to look so scared, I ain’t gonna jump you,” Jose laughs.

Although he talked a big talk on the walk over, Jose hasn't been like that at all with just the two of them. He's much quieter and more sincere when he's not in front of a group.

But Brock has seen American teen movies. He’s not completely clueless as to what usually happens behind bleachers. So he can't quite relax and let his guard down completely, in case he needs to be ready to make some moves he has no idea how to make. 

The ball flies way off the field and comes rolling past them. One of the jocks from earlier jogs over to get it.

He does a double take when he sees them and hesitates, looking at Jose’s hand on top of Brock’s. Brock wants to fold into himself and hide (breathe, in and out) but Jose’s voice comes out harsh and loud again,

“Keep walking bitch. Unless you tryna make this a threesome?” he clicks his tongue and the jock laughs involuntarily and shakes his head.

“You crazy, Jose,” he mutters as he walks away, familiar, and almost fond.

“Say that to my face, bitch,” Jose calls after him, half hearted, already turning back to smile at Brock.

“Don’t look so worried," he nudges Brock. "I'm just messing with that bitch. I told you I ain’t gonna jump you or nothing,” he assures again, voice back to soft and intimate.

It’s striking, hypnotizing, how his huge coarse persona gets softer and more welcoming all over when he talks one on one. How he melts softer still when he blinks at Brock like that.

“I know I say a lotta shit but that's just playin. I’m all talk. All bark and no bite." He smiles softly, leans closer, bumps their shoulders together. "I ain’t no ho.”

“Honestly I’m kind of a romantic,” he rolls his eyes at himself, like he’s embarrassed.

“You know, The Notebook? Pretty Woman? All that shit. That's my jush. Anything with Julia Roberts. I love that bitch.”

Brock laughs. He hasn't seen either of those but he feels better about secretly still watching Disney movies and genuinely enjoying them.

Jose is so sweet, Brock feels completely safe with him. He is so unapologetically himself it makes Brock want to meet him head on with boldness. Makes him feel more like himself, like sides of himself he doesn't fully know yet. Maybe that’s why he feels brave enough to say,

“What if I want you to jump me?” softly, scared to meet his eye.

“Yeah?” Jose asks, close to his face, closer than he realized. When Brock looks up his eyes are sparkling and he’s looking at Brock’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Brock breathes, eyes fixed on his lips, and Jose starts leaning in and he panics.

“I’ve never kissed anybody before,” falls clumsily out of his mouth. He blushes horribly and hides his face with one hand when he realizes he really did blurt that out right as a cute boy was leaning in to kiss him for the first time.

He couldn't help himself. What if he tried and got it _wrong_? He is almost paralyzed with fear at the thought of how many ways he could get this wrong. Not least, saying what he just did. 

Through the slits of his fingers Jose looks surprised but he doesn’t tease. He doesn't pull back and run away either.

Brock can't believe it's happening when glittery nails wrap around Brock's hand and Jose pulls it away from his face. He keeps hold of it, smiles softly and keeps leaning towards him.

“That’s okay," he breathes, his voice cracking, impossibly gentle, "I can show you. It’s like this…”

Jose’s small glittery hand traces along Brock’s jaw and holds his chin. Brock’s eyes close instinctively as his face comes close, hardly daring to breathe. He smells strong cologne, the smell of _boy_ , feels warm breath on his face, and then soft full lips press against his.

Brock’s heart pounds. He can feel Jose’s beating hard too, his warm body only inches away.

Their lips press gently together once, twice, three times. Brock's whole body tingles. He can't believe it's really happening. He's doing it. They're doing it. He couldn't ask for a more perfect first kiss. 

Jose tastes like vanilla lip gloss. Brock wants to lick it off him, wants to put it on his own lips, heady with joy at the rightness of the taste of lipgloss on his mouth.

Jose pulls back after three little kisses, eyes running over him to check he’s okay. Brock already leans after him, unconsciously, chasing more.

He couldn’t stop his smile if he wanted to and Jose grins in response.

“Did you like it?” Jose asks, staring at Brock's bottom lip like he's a bit hypnotized.

“Mmhmm,” Brock breathes, nodding, rubbing his lips together delighting in the slide of the leftover gloss. Jose’s hand is still holding his face, thumb stroking his cheek.

He's smiling, he looks pleased, and pride blooms in Brock's chest that he did okay at it. From the hungry look in his eyes maybe he even did good.

“Wanna do it again?” Jose leans back in and something raw and primal surges up in Brock, propelling him forward to meet Jose’s lips first.

He feels Jose gasp surprise and smile against his mouth, pleased at his boldness.

Brock presses more firmly into the kiss, brings his hands up to cup Jose’s cheeks, slides them down his arms, wants to touch him everywhere but isn't sure where he's allowed.

Jose hums against his mouth. When Brock parts his lips to suck in a breath, Jose's tongue licks inside his mouth and he presses close, until he’s practically in Brock’s lap, their tongues dancing together.

Brock follows his lead and it's so much easier and more natural than he ever imagined to just give over and go with it, his mind going completely quiet, overwhelmed with _feeling._

They’re both grinning widely when they pull back, like they’re in on a secret together.

“All talk, huh?” Brock jokes, confident enough now to let out some of his dry humor, and Jose laughs, surprised.

“I ain’t usually talking to somebody this cute. They make 'em real good up in Canada, huh?” Jose purses his lips up at him, diving up for one more peck and then crawling close, settling himself in Brock’s arms. They wrap around him like it’s natural, even though he’s never cuddled with anybody who wasn’t a friend or a cat before.

His heart is beating hard and his arms tremble slightly with nerves but Jose is nice enough not to mention it.

He just had his first kiss with a boy and was better than he ever imagined. It was amazing. His stomach is soaring. He feels unstoppable. He feels shaken and needs to recover but is already wondering how soon he can do it again. His imagination tripping over what else they could do. 

“You all right Canada, we’ll keep you,” Jose smirks up at him, teeth flashing. Brock has never felt happier to be a gay boy.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the jocks trailing off the pitch, hears them shoving and teasing each other loudly. One of them smacks another's ass and he shoves him and calls him queer.

"I hate how they make it sound disgusting," Brock sighs softly, looking down at Jose comfortable against his chest.

This is the most right he's ever felt. He will never believe this is supposed to feel wrong.

"Right?" Jose says softly, and then frowns at Brock's expression. A little hand comes up and strokes his cheek again.

"Forget about em, baby. Fuck em. They only bothering you cuz their limp dick asses jealous you so fine."

Brock doubts that's true. He's always been too effeminate to blend in. He'd get teased for it no matter what he looked like. 

But it's nice to hear Jose thinks that.

The way Jose looks at him makes him feel powerful. Despite his big body that gets stronger each year, Brock usually feels like a little kitten inside, like he could crumble at any moment. This power is new and he likes it. 

Watching those jocks shove each other his mind floods with the things they said to him. He wishes they didn't make him feel so dirty.

He wonders if Jose has a refreshing, inspiring take on it that will make him feel better, like he has about everything else. 

"Have you…" he starts cautiously, "I mean are you…" Brock doesn't have the vocabulary to ask what he wants and now he’s started he gets shy about it and regrets it.

He looks away and fiddles with the grass. Tries to calm his heartbeat down because Jose is against his chest and will definitely feel it. 

"What you asking babe?" Jose tips his head back, open and encouraging.

"Do you...when you're with a boy, you know...are you the one who...fucks them or...gets...fucked?" Brock cringes, painfully aware he is the least cool gay seventeen year old in America, with the least knowledge of the right words for things. 

"Ohhh," Jose smiles playfully. "He ain't so shy now, huh?"

His little hand nudges Brock's stomach and his eyes light up when he feels Brock's abs. Brock can barely meet his eyes he's so embarrassed, his heart thundering in his ears.

"I don't know," Jose blinks softly at him, "I haven't yet. I mean have with a girl but…"

He shakes his head, smiling shyly, looks Brock up and down, eyes lingering on his mouth. "That ain't the same thing."

Brock's brain explodes a little trying to picture Jose with a girl, a weird mix of jealousy and wrongness.

Jose looks at Brock curiously, "You aint…?"

Brock laughs.

"You think I haven't kissed anyone before but I might have had sex?" He's starting to feel more like himself, like he can be as sassy as he is with his friends back home.

Jose shrugs chuckling, "I don't know, bitch," he pushes Brock's stomach lightly. "Just checking." 

He gets soft and thoughtful as he considers it, leans in like he's telling a secret.

"I think I might like to...you know...take it. I think I might like that. I like thinking about it," he looks right in Brock's eyes and his soft smile makes Brock's heart stop.

"But I ain't tried it yet," he blinks up at Brock, eyes sparkling. 

Brock nods, mouth dry, certain he’ll be absolutely fixated on this piece of information when he’s thinking about Jose later tonight.

His mind is blank of anything but the image of that and he can't think of anything to say next.

Jose is quiet too. They might have finally entered territory where he's just as uncertain as Brock. His hand stays on Brock's stomach, stroking his abs through his shirt, looking up at him to make sure it's okay. Brock smiles encouragingly, enjoying it so much he has to clench his teeth to stop his whole body shivering. He eventually calms himself enough that he can think of words again.

“Do you think it hurts?” 

He can’t get past the thought of that when he pictures it. Can’t imagine he could ever relax enough for it to be comfortable. Hopes that won't make it impossible for him to ever have a boyfriend.

“Probably the first time,” Jose shrugs. “But it s'posed to feel real good once you get used to it."

He smiles wickedly up at Brock and Brock, who has never been able to imagine himself doing it, thinks he'd pull down his pants and bend over right now if Jose asked him to. He might jump off a bridge right now if Jose looked at him like that and asked him to.

The gleam in his eyes makes Brock feel brave again and another question comes out before he can stop it.

"Would you take it in turns? Or do guys usually only do one or the other or...?"

He doesn't mean to turn this into sex ed but his mind is racing with questions he's always wondered. He wants to know everything. Jose seems like he knows everything. Even if he doesn't Brock has never had someone he could ask before.

He knows he sounds embarrassingly naive but he doesn't think Jose will make fun of him too badly.

Jose does laugh though, shakes his head.

"I don't know, bitch. I ain't do a survey. _'scuse me sir you gay? I got a cute Canadian wanna know if you a top or a bottom or you like ta switch it up sometimes."_

He laughs but sees Brock is cringing rather than laughing and softens,

"Relax, baby, I'm only playin. You gotta relax."

He darts up and presses a quick kiss to Brock's cheek which doesn't make him relax at all but does make him feel better.

Jose shrugs,

"Depend what you like, I guess. People usually a top or a bottom, I think, but some bitches versatile. Especially with boyfriends. Far as I know," he shrugs.

"I think I'm a top," Brock says quietly, testing it out.

He wants to try everything but he still can't quite wrap his head around the idea of something that big pushing inside him. And every time he thinks of it he also thinks of comments like those jocks made or the disapproving drone of the priest who led his Bible group as a kid and it ruins the idea for him, makes him clench up even more, so he can't even tell what he really thinks about it. 

"A top, hm? Ain't that convenient," Jose's eyes sparkle up at him. He winks and Brock nearly chokes on his tongue, every other thought disappearing like smoke. 

He looks at the grass trying to calm his heart down again, though at this point Jose must know how nervous he is and he doesn't seem to mind. Jose's hand finds his in the grass and starts playing with his fingers. He smiles to himself and it makes him confident enough to ask his next thought.

“Have you...sucked…a...you know?”

“You ain’t never talk bout this shit out loud before huh?” Jose asks, eyes kind, teasing but very gently.

“Is it that obvious?” Brock blushes.

“A bit,” Jose smiles up at him and at least he doesn’t seem to find it off putting. The opposite if the way he’s looking at him is anything to go by. 

"It's cute. You cute." He leans up and kisses him on the mouth and this one is smoother than the first two, their lips and tongues finding a delicious rhythm.

Brock wonders if he’ll be allowed to keep kissing him until they get it even smoother. He wants to practice every day, wants to get perfect at it.

Brock has an addictive personality and when he finds something he likes he finds it very hard to stop.

Jose hums low and rumbling into the kiss making heat flare in Brock’s stomach. He threads their fingers together and leaves them threaded together when he pulls back, dotting little kisses on Brock's neck.

Brock feels unbearably hot. He never knew how sensitive his neck was. His heart thumps in his ears again. When he's breathing so heavily he's almost panting, Jose trails his lips away, rests his head on Brock's shoulder, smiling smugly at his reaction.

Brock runs a hand up and down his back, because it feels like he might be allowed to. Jose melts further into him, practically purring, and Brock is pleased with himself.

When he catches his breath Brock remembers Jose hasn't answered.

“So have you?” Brock squeezes his shoulder. 

“Sucked a dick?” Jose asks with raised eyebrows. Brock's stomach drops even at just that. He nods.

“Mmmhmm,” Jose grins, smugly.

“What’s it like?” Brock asks, awe in his voice. 

Jose shrugs a shoulder, laughing,

“Good. Fun. Depends on the dick.”

Brock laughs at that. Jose turns his head and places a little kiss on his neck again before he says, 

“I bet yours real nice but I ain’t showing you that here.” 

Brock’s eyes widen at the thought and he laughs shakily.

He knows Jose talks a big talk and he may not be serious.

But he can’t believe he’s been in Florida three weeks and has already come out to a beautiful boy, who is snuggling in his arms, talking about sucking his dick.

Or Brock sucking his dick.

Either, both.

Whichever way around, Brock’s pulse is quickening at the thought of it. If he's not careful Jose is going to think he has a serious heart condition. 

“I ain’t a ho, remember. Even though you damn fine. You gon have to wife me up to get that,” Jose smirks at him. 

As far as Brock can tell, that means be his boyfriend.

Jose just throws it out that casually, like it could be his for the taking, and there he was worrying he'd never get a boyfriend at all.

Jose makes everything Brock thought was so scary seem so easy.

"I could do that," Brock smiles at Jose and he could. He couldn't have imagined having a boyfriend yesterday but in this moment it seems like it would be easy to be Jose's.

Jose's smile in response is brighter than the Florida sun. 

Brock would have to come out to his mom if he was going to have a boyfriend, which he never imagined he’d do. He thinks she might have her suspicions but they've always avoided talking about it. He knows it's not what she wants to hear and he's never felt like he wants to tell her something she doesn't want to know.

But suddenly he kind of wants to. If it means he could have this.

With Jose against his chest in the grass, beaming at him handsome and perfect and _interested_ , Brock feels more human than he ever has.

As alive as he feels when he dances. He didn't know there was anything else in the world that could make him feel like this.

Who would have guessed he'd like Florida so much? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I had to stop there or I'd carry on writing this forever and I can't! Ha. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> If anyone likes this idea please write more highschool AU cuz I kinda love them all little and soft like this?!
> 
> And there is still a sequel to I Bet in the works - no promises when cuz it's grown out of control and I don't have a lot of time to write but it's coming eventually!
> 
> .
> 
> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I know I said I wasn’t going to write any more for these but I wrote A LITTLE BIT MORE. But NO MORE AFTER THIS OK?!
> 
> Warning - soft soft soft boys.

_Jose’s lips. The hot wet heat of his mouth Brock knows on his tongue but wrapping around the length of him instead. Jose’s dark eyes looking up at him gleaming._

Brock’s hand flies over himself, picking up speed, settling into a rhythm that feels nice. His thumb teases the top. He closes his eyes and imagines his hand smaller, softer, with sparkly nail polish.

He used think about boys in general when he did this, shapeless boys, the idea of boys. Or a boy he’d seen, and imagine what he was like. Now he thinks about his handsome boyfriend as he burns hot under the covers.

_Jose’s chest. Jose’s abs. The hairs on his forearms._

Brock turns his head to bite into his pillow, breath gathering hot under his face, trying to be quieter.

_Jose cornering him in an imaginary locker room somehow. Jose tugging on his wrists til Brock falls to his knees. Jose smirking down at him, touching his lip, pulling down the zipper of his pants._

“Brock?” his mom calls from outside the door, and Brock gasps, hand stilling beneath the covers immediately.

“Mmm?” he calls, hearing the shake in his voice, hoping she can’t tell.

She pushes the door open a crack, peers into the darkness.

“Oh, I thought you were still doing homework. Just letting you know I’m off to bed. Goodnight sweetheart.”

Brock prays she can’t smell anything suspicious when she comes in and leans over the bed to kiss the top of his curls.

“Night mommy,” he murmurs, trying to make his voice sound sleepy so she won’t tell it’s something else.

If she can tell she doesn’t show it. She walks out and closes the door softly.

He stays still, breathing, for a few minutes before his hand dares start moving again. Hears the creak of her floorboard down the hall as she gets into bed.

His hand starts stroking slowly, lightly, building back to the speed he was at.

_On his knees in the imaginary locker room, Jose unzipping his pants, looking down at Brock and smirking._

_It switches to the memory of Jose’s thighs either side of him on Jose’s bed. Jose grinding into him as his tongue pushed into Brock’s mouth. Jose’s sure firm little hand wrapped around both their dicks, pumping them together, coming onto each other’s stomachs._

Brock’s hand is moving fast now, gliding in rhythm. He’s trying to move lightly, not be too loud. His breath comes hard through his nose, clenching his teeth to keep his mouth quiet.

_It switches again, an edit of the memory where Jose pushes him back on the bed instead and crawls over him. Jose leaning down, licking his lips. Jose wrapping his mouth around him._

_Back to the imaginary locker room. Brock on his knees. Jose smirking. Jose's fingers in his mouth and Brock sucking. Jose’s hands either side of his head, fisting in his curls, guiding Brock’s mouth to his crotch and ---_

Brock is coming, gasping into his pillow.

He lets himself catch his breath, reaches to the side of his bed for a tshirt to wipe himself clean.

He reaches for his Nokia (of course he’s one of the last people at school not to have an iPhone or a Blackberry) and there’s a text from Jose.

_Thinking bout you <3 <3 Sweet dreams baby boy. See u at school xxxxxxxxxx_

Brock’s heart swoops and he smiles into his pillow. He wonders if thinking about you means Jose was doing what he was just doing but he’s not brave enough to ask that yet.

///

Jose is waiting for him at the gates with Deanna, Nikea, Britnee, Amaris, Alesha and Manuel. He and Britnee are sat on the wall, swinging their legs.

It’s been four months and Brock is still not over how grateful he is to have friends here. That his boyfriend comes with a full social circle included. Jose is never alone at school, friends clustering around him like backup dancers. Some of the dance team are in Brock’s year too so he has people to sit with now in classes.

When Brock spots them on the wall Jose’s head is thrown back laughing, he’s glowing golden in the sun, and Brock’s breath catches in his chest at how gorgeous he is.

Sometimes Brock looks at him and can’t believe how lucky he is that that’s _his_ boyfriend.

Jose jumps down smiling warmly when Brock approaches, which makes his face even cuter. He leans up to press a quick kiss against his mouth.

Even Jose isn’t brave enough to kiss him full out in the middle of school, but that’s okay because neither is Brock.

Deanna dyed her hair pale purple over the weekend and is wearing matching eyeshadow that graduates from light purple on the inner corner to dark purple on the outside. Brock feels a pang of jealousy at the same time as he appreciates how nice it looks.

“Love the hair Dee, looks sickening,” Brock grins, running his hands through the ends adoringly.

“Thanks babe,” she pouts and tosses her head to show the full effect.

“Your boo did this eye look. Matchy matchy. Cute right?”

“So pretty, Papi. You’re so good at makeup,” Brock can’t kiss Jose like he wants here but he can sure make eyes at him so he knows how much he wishes he could. Jose’s eyes flash back at him, a spark of want burning.

“Y’all stop eye fucking there are children present,” Nikea laughs, shoving Jose.

“How bout I remind you of the innocent childrens when Darnell Bradley sniffing round you later, bitch?”

“Shut up, whore,” Nikea laughs, and they shove each other.

“Come on bitches, let’s get a education.”

They head in to school and Jose’s hand brushes against Brock’s as they walk, linking their fingers. He smiles up at him, slows his pace deliberately so they fall behind the others.

“My mom staying at her boyfriend’s this weekend,” he says, eyes shining with excitement.

“You wanna sleep over? My brothers’ll be home but they don’ give a fuck long as we don’ bother ‘em none.”

Just the two of them alone together all night. In Jose’s bed. Jose’s eyes sparkle with promise.

Brock still has to ask his mom but already he has never wanted a week to go by faster.

///

He hasn’t been at Jose’s ten minutes before they’re on his bed kissing, pulling each other’s shirts off, grinding into each other urgently. 

Jose’s older brother waved lazily, a jerk of his head and a murmured, "Canada," in greeting when Brock arrived, not looking up from his video game. Then he sipped his beer and muttered, 

“I don’ wanna hear no faggy shit, aight?” so they have music on loud to cover any noises. 

Brock has seen Jose snap at his brother for using that word before. Today he doesn’t waste time telling him their mom will lose her shit and whoop his ass when he tells her, too eager to drag Brock upstairs.

Brock wonders if maybe he's not threatening to tell her because she doesn't know Brock is sleeping over. Jose's mom is very very cool but Brock doesn't know if she's _that_ cool. 

Jose’s hand runs glitter nails down Brock’s bare chest, making his abs tremble, gets to his pants and hovers there. He pulls back, watching Brock as his hand traces the outline of his erection.

“This okay?” he asks, squeezing him over his pants. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Brock nods breathlessly. 

Jose unzips his pants and wraps his hand around him for real. Scoots down his body, mouth getting closer. 

This is new, this is right out of his fantasies, this is…

“This okay?” Jose asks, eyes blazing up at him, full of want. 

Brock nods furiously.

“Yeah, anything, everything,” he pants, wanting it all, as much as Jose will give him, and Jose smirks, pleased, just like he does in Brocks fantasies as his perfect pouty lips open and his warm mouth closes wetly around Brock’s head. 

Brock can’t help the desperate noises he makes, glad they put on loud music. Jose bobs down eagerly, testing how deep he can go. 

“You so big baby,” he gasps around it, eyes dark when they look up at Brock. “Ain’t never suck on one so long and thick before,” he mumbles around Brock’s dick, mouth dripping with spit.

He takes him as deep as he can again, and grabs the rest he can’t reach in his fist. He bobs for a while then pulls back and explores it slowly, murmuring soft praise against Brock’s silky hard skin. 

“Knew you’d be fuckin perfect,” a lick all the way up, “Your dick was made for me baby,” his tongue swirling on the head, hand twisting up firmly, “Knew it would feel like this.”

Brock is completely overwhelmed with sensation. His heart flutters with affection at the same time as his stomach swoops with pleasure and it’s so much. He’s also trying to pay attention to what Jose’s doing so he knows what to do when it’s his turn. 

Jose finds a rhythm that makes Brock moan. 

“This okay? Like this? This good baby?”

Brock feels it coming quickly, doesn’t want it to be over yet. 

“Wait, wait,” he pulls Jose up. Fumbles with the button on Jose’s pants, pulling them down. Flips Jose onto his back, making his breath leave him in a gasp. 

Brock settles between Jose’s legs and looks at his dick, hard and golden pink and all his. They did the thing with Jose’s hand jerking both of them, fast and full of hushed whispers, worried about his mom hearing, but this is Brock’s first chance to take his time, take it in, look at it, enjoy it. It’s smaller than Brock’s but enticingly big, it fits perfectly in his large hand. To Brock it's perfect. His mouth waters just looking at it, knowing he is gonna get to put it in his mouth, that it's all for him. He tries to commit every detail of this moment to memory, so glad his first time doing it is like this. 

As he’s about to take him in his mouth Jose frowns and puts a hand in his curls.

“You don’t wanna come first?” 

Brock shakes his head and wraps his mouth around him, body rushing with the _rightness_ of it. 

Delight tickles his stomach. He loves the feel of it filling his mouth. Loves seeing the range of different noises he can draw from Jose when he laps at the tip or licks up the length of it. Loves Jose’s hands clenching in his hair, Jose’s eyes darkening with pleased blame when he looks up at him, pouting at him involuntarily - _this is your fault, you’re doing this to me, I’m at your mercy._ Even loves taking it so deep it hits the back of his throat and makes him gag. Not the gagging itself but the feeling of a dick completely down his throat, and giving over to that, makes him feel...it’s something like dirty but in a way that feels really nice not bad or wrong. Makes him feel powerful. It’s so so nice, feels so so good.

He's lost in it. When Jose starts moaning really loud and warning him he’s going to come, Brock realizes he’s coming too, making a helpless noise against the hard hot skin on his tongue as Jose squirts warm salty liquid into his mouth that he swallows down without a second thought. 

Jose pulls him up close, kissing him, wrapping his leg around Brock’s hip, clinging to him. Although their pants are still around both their knees, it’s the most naked they’ve been together, touching all over, and it’s so nice.

“You...did you?” Jose looks at the drying mess on Brock’s stomach. 

“Yeah,” Brock blushes, embarrassed. 

He still doesn’t know as much as he should but he knows it’s not supposed to be good to come easily. He came without Jose even touching him, just from sucking his boyfriend’s dick. 

“You’re too sexy,” he mumbles, ashamed, into Jose’s hair. 

Jose grins up at him, delighted, not mad about it at all. 

He always feels safe with Jose but he feels especially safe in vulnerable moments like this when Jose, who can be so quick to tease other people, never laughs at him, always makes everything seem okay, even when Brock doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, is probably getting it completely wrong. 

He’s hit with a memory of last week under the bleachers, clustering close in a circle and passing a joint around. Jose exhaling smoke like a dragon and leaning his head on Brock’s shoulder, eyes daring anybody to say word about Brock not wanting to take a hit. 

Brock feels like he can be completely himself with Jose. More than that, when he’s with Jose he feels like himself is something wonderful. 

His heart swells and something comes into his mouth but he’s scared to say it. 

“I…”

“Hmm?” Jose looks up at him. 

“No, nothing. I just thought of something but I don’t wanna say it. It might be stupid.”

“Say it,” Jose squeezes him with the arms wrapped around him. 

His eyes are intent and curious and Brock never should have said that because now he won’t stop until he gets it out of him.

Jose changes tactics and brings a hand up to stroke Brock’s face, gentle and encouraging.

“What? Say it,” he coaxes, eyes wide and patient. 

Okay, fine. 

“I just thought...uh...I..mm..." Brock swallows. "I love you.”

Brock closes his eyes after he says it, as though he can hide from it.

Jose’s mouth presses against his immediately and when they pull back from the kiss and Brock dares open his eyes, Jose is smiling so wide. 

“That ain’t stupid,” he says in the softest most private version of his voice. “I love you too.”

His eyes look extra shiny and he shakes his head blinking fast and says, 

“I ain’t crying.”

Brock grins pleased and hugs him very tight, tears filling his own eyes for a second because he is still not on top of his crying thing.

///

They spend most of the evening putting makeup on themselves and each other. 

Brock has learned so much about make up from Jose. He feels so happy and _right_ when he’s in full face, so beautiful, but he only wears make up like this in Jose’s room. 

He wears lip balm to school now and Jose plucks his crazy brows into a neat shape for him. 

Sometimes they borrow Jose’s mom’s straighteners and style Brock’s hair. He’s growing his curls out long and one day he wants straighteners of his own so it can be long and flowy and he can toss it around. Jose smiles fondly at him when he practices tossing it, runs his fingers through it like Brock is a beautiful woman. 

Brock knows what Drag Race is now and they’ve watched all the old episodes. They tape each episode of the new season to watch over and over. They check Alexis Mateo’s website every week for updates. Brock scours it for under 21 gigs, Jose tries to plot how they’d go up to Orlando and sneak into one of the regular gigs. He could steal one of his brothers’ IDs but they’d need to get one for Brock.

“I want to do that,” Brock says one time as the Drag Race credits roll. Sat on Jose’s bed with him snuggled under his arm, Mama Ru’s voice, _“If you can’t love yourself how in the hell you gonna love somebody else”_ ringing in his ears. The more he sees the more he feels like this is _him_ , this feels right.

“What about ballet?” Jose looks up at him. 

That’s the big question. His whole life has been leading up to a ballet career. He’s in the final audition rounds for the National Ballet School. He can’t abandon that now, no matter how much he likes the idea that there are men whose job is to make money by dancing around in pretty dresses. That’s sort of what ballet is, except ballet feels like it’s edging towards what’s in Brock’s heart where drag feels like it’s hitting the jackpot. 

“Maybe I can do both,” he says softly, thinking out loud. 

“Sure you can,” Jose is full of confidence when he beams up at him. “You can do anything, baby.”

Sometimes after they watch an episode they move Jose’s desk and practice their walks up and down the small strip of space in his room. Jose says Brock’s is really good and Jose would say that anyway but when he sees himself in the mirror against Jose’s wall Brock thinks he might actually be right. 

That’s what they’re doing now. They’ve put on makeup and are doing their runways, doing some dancing too, practicing their moves for a club show. 

Jose has borrowed one of his mom’s dresses. Nothing of hers would fit Brock so he has one of her scarves tied around him as a top and the bedsheet around his waist like a skirt. They both walk on their toes to simulate heels.

Brock loves kicking a leg out when he turns, making the sheet ripple wide in a swirl, imagining it’s the beautiful flowy fabric of a dress. 

Jose has given up on runway and is just twirling, the material of the dress fanning out around him, his head tilted back and smiling, 

“I love twirlin’,” he grins at Brock when he sees him watching. 

Brock practically leaps across the room to kiss him, he’s so precious. God, he loves him so much. 

Even though dressing up pretty is his favorite thing, Brock has been distracted since they said they loved each other on Jose’s bed earlier, because of what happened after. 

“I been thinking,” Jose says, looking down all uncharacteristically shy. 

“Maybe we could try something,”

“What?” Brock asks, a bit lightheaded with anticipation.

He has an idea what he might be thinking. The change in his demeanor makes Brock’s brain jump to one thing but he doesn’t wanna assume and make a fool of himself or pressure him or --

Jose takes Brock’s hand and kisses his fingers with a gravity that Brock knows means he’s imagining they’re in a romantic movie. He might even be recreating something he likes from one, though Brock doesn’t remember this in any he’s watched with him. 

Then he lifts his leg higher on Brock’s hip, brings Brock’s hand around between his cheeks, presses one of Brock’s fingers against his hole.

“I think I wanna,” he breathes, eyes dark and watching Brock, open and trusting. 

“I mean, I know, baby. Brock. I wanna.”

Brock’s fingers are completely dry and he knows that’s wrong for this but he circles a finger around the puckered skin there for a second anyway, mesmerized, watches Jose’s eyes blow wide when he dips just the tip of it inside. 

He lunges and kisses him desperately and they’re both panting when Jose pushes him back. 

“Not yet. We just...later, yeah?”

So Brock has been thinking about that all night. Trying not to let his mind drift to it and of course finding it impossible. 

At one point, shy and blushing, mumbling about showing him something, Jose puts down his blending brush and crawls under his bed. Comes out with a box and shows him a long silicone shape, not as big as Brock, but _big_ to put _there_. 

“I been practising,” he murmurs, all soft and beautifully shy. 

Brock’s mouth hangs open and he doesn’t know what to say. Might come in his own lap again if he’s not careful. He reaches out for him and Jose sits in his lap, gives him a little kiss. Seeing how overwhelmed Brock is, Jose shakes off his shyness, laughs softly, takes it upon himself to lighten the mood, running his mouth, jokey,

“Been gettin the pussy ready for you baby,” He winks, hands running over the silicone as he puts it back in the box. “Gettin my stretch on, gettin my pussy right. You know you ain’t small. My man got that _good_ d. Finest dick I ever seen." he runs a hand up Brock's chest. "All this _and_ that beautiful smile? Chil', I hit the jackpot, baby.”

Brock hasn’t seen any others, apart from Jose’s but he trusts Jose about everything so he believes him if he says so. It’s not like he can look up porn on his home computer and if he googles something innocuous sounding they’re all flaccid, which doesn’t really give a proper comparison.

The silicone thing was put away right after but it’s been burned into Brock’s mind since and he’s very distracted. 

///

He’s starting to think Jose knows exactly what he’s doing and was enjoying making him wait for it, watching him get all flustered. Because when they’re lying in bed, make up off, dark except for the lamp, and a slower playlist on, his smile is absolutely wicked. 

"You nervous?" he asks, eyes sparkling at Brock in the dark as they lie face to face. 

"Yeah," Brock whispers, reaching out for him. He finds his hand and Jose links their fingers. 

"Are you?" Brock asks. 

"Mmhmm," Jose nods and gives him a brave excited smile.

He leans over the edge of his bed and comes back up with a tube of clear gel which he drops on to Brock’s bare chest. 

“Ready?” he grins.

“Uh, are you?” Brock asks and by way of answer Jose drapes himself across Brock and kisses him. 

Soon he’s writhing on two of Brock’s fingers, and Brock thinks he’d promise him anything he asked if he never stops looking up at him like that, both their dicks painfully hard and brushing together as Brock leans over him. 

“Do it, do it,” Jose pants, “Get in me, baby, do it.”

“Do we need a...aren’t you supposed to wear...condom?” Brock manages to ask, mind cloudy, but he remembers that from sex ed at school in Canada. Although they had been talking about girls, it’s still a dick going inside. 

“Not with your boyfriend,” Jose purrs up at him and that’s all he needs to hear. 

He hooks a hand under Jose’s knee and with his other hand guides himself between his cheeks where it’s dripping wet with lube. He’s rubbed it along himself too, jolting at the cold sensation. His head slides against the hole and he can’t imagine how he’s gonna fit but Jose looks him in the eyes again and says, 

“Do it,” such a command that his body obeys before he can think and Jose is gasping, eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open, as he pushes into him. 

It’s just the very tip inside and Jose says, 

“Wait, wait,” 

Brock freezes immediately, eyes shut against the overwhelming, tight warm perfect sensation on his dick, the overwhelming sight in front of him of the boy he loves gasping for him. He’s already trying hard not to come immediately before he can get all the way inside. 

Jose breathes heavily and he feels the muscles he’s pushing into relax slightly around him. He opens his eyes and Jose’s are closed, focus inwards, like he’s concentrating.

He wants to ask if it hurts but it looks pretty obvious that it does. It can’t be all pain, Jose’s dick is hard and leaking between them, but it doesn’t look easy. 

“Okay, go, more,” Jose breathes, voice cracking, sounding wrecked like he’s been screaming. 

His dick drips precum onto his stomach and the droplets distract Brock’s attention. He wants to lick them up.

He smears them with his thumb instead, sucks it into his mouth after and watches Jose watch him, ethereally quiet and intense. Then Brock pushes in further, slowly, and Jose's eyes flutter shut. 

Jose doesn’t say wait this time but his hand grabs Brock’s wrist as his breath hitches, eyes still closed and concentrated, so Brock pauses, half inside. 

His eyes fix on the movement of Jose's stomach, abs rising and falling as he breathes heavily. It’s strange seeing Jose so quiet and focussed inwards, almost serene if not for the pleasure-pain mixture straining across his expression and his heavy exhales. He’s usually so loud when they kiss. 

He squeezes Brock’s wrist and lets go and Brock takes that to mean he should push in further, so he does, stopping and holding still when he’s all the way inside him, waiting to see if it's okay. 

He waits countless breaths, feels the muscles move around him, is ready to wait as long as Jose needs, but he has to start distracting himself in his head because it’s _very_ hot and _very_ tight, even aside from the fact that it’s Jose, who could do anything and he’d find it sexy. The little breathy noises he's making are so distracting.

Jose’s eyes blink open and he reaches for Brock’s face, strokes it tenderly, and if Brock wasn’t sure he loved him before now he would be. He feels so incredibly connected to him, their bodies and their hearts. 

“Go baby,” Jose whispers. He arches up and presses a kiss against Brock’s mouth, “Move.”

“Is it okay? Is it…?” Brock doesn’t know what to check for but he will do anything he asks to make this good for him, make it perfect.

He wonders too late if it might have hurt less to push inside him from behind. But he can't imagine doing this for the first time without being able to see his boyfriend's face, follow his reactions, be able to lean down and kiss him. Do people even do it from behind? He saw cows do it like that once, on a farm in Canada. He's heard people giggle over the names of sex positions but he doesn't know what they all mean. In all the movies Jose likes they do it like this. Those are boys with girls but it's not like they have movies to watch with two boys in and he wants it to feel just as special for them as all Jose's romcoms.

He hadn't dared imagine they'd do this tonight. He would have tried to sneak enough time alone on a computer to google ways to make it hurt less. Knowing it would hurt in theory and seeing his boyfriend in pain because of him are very different. They ended up like this instinctively, but Brock trusts Jose, trusts if he wanted it any other way he would have nudged Brock into that position already.

“It’s good,” Jose tries to smile encouragingly but he’s distracted, expression reflecting whatever he’s feeling inside, that pleasure-pain mix. 

His hands reach out blindly, run up Brocks chest, cling tightly to his shoulders. 

“It’s... a lot. But it’s real good. Just...move,” his heel digs into Brocks hip, and his muscles clench around him drawing him deeper, tighter. Brock gasps and gets his arm under his other leg so they're both around his waist.

Brock's mind goes silent. He’s nothing but one big nerve of feeling. There’s nothing in the world but Jose tight around him, his smell heavy in the air every time Brock takes a shuddering breath, his eyes open and trusting and burning into him, and he _moves,_ some sort of instinctive knowledge taking over, copying the thrusts they make against each other with clothes on, the ones he makes into his fist by himself. 

Brock doesn’t last long. It’s so tight and Jose looks so beautiful beneath him. Better than any fantasy he’s ever had. The panting, pleading sounds he makes go straight to the pit of Brock's stomach. It feels like his life is changing as he thrusts inside him, like he’ll never be the same after this. 

After, Jose murmurs about angles they can try next time that will make him come from it too, as he runs his fingers through Brock’s hair, once Brock has pulled out and sucked him off again. Already dripping when Brock wrapped his mouth around him, coming in seconds.

“Are you okay?” Brock looks up at Jose from his chest, cheek against the warmth of his skin, fingertips caressing his side.

“I’m perfect baby,” Jose smiles down at him, but he seems changed slightly too. 

It’s like they’re both more mature now. Part of the adult world. They know how that feels. They’ve done everything the grown ups have. There’s a gravity to it. He’s so glad they did it together. 

“Be sore tomorrow, I bet,” Jose grimaces a little at the thought of it. 

“I’m sorry,” Brock says softly, wishing he could take half the pain because that would be fair. 

“What you sorry for? Don’t be sorry for nothing, baby, I loved it.” Jose scratches his scalp. “I love you.” 

His thumb catches on Brocks bottom lip and Brock says it back, _I love you too_ , savors Jose’s little smile, wants to say it with every breath, can’t say it enough. 

Brock feels strange. Happy but almost a little melancholy. 

He scoots up so they’re face to face and kisses Jose desperately like he’s the answer. 

It’s like after the overwhelming completeness he felt buried inside him he’s left feeling a little bereft that they’re not connected that intensely anymore. Even though they’re skin to skin wrapped in each others’ arms. 

Jose kisses back needily, wrapping his whole body around him and he thinks he must feel it too. 

That feels better, that he’s not alone, that they’re feeling it together. That they need each other an equally terrifying amount. 

He wonders if he’ll spend the rest of his life chasing that perfect feeling now that he’s tried it, now that he knows. If it will ever not call to him again as soon as he pulls out. 

“I’m gettin me some more of _that,"_ Jose murmurs in the soft voice he has when he's sleepy.

"We better hope my mama like this new man cuz now I know what it’s like we doin’ that _all the time_ , baby." he strokes Brock's brows, eyes cataloguing his face as he says, "I know you liked it too, huh? I take care of _my_ man.”

He articulates it differently but Brock thinks Jose is saying, feeling, the same thing. 

Brock laughs, and kisses him on his lips and then again over his heart. 

He falls asleep like a dead weight and is inside him again in his dreams and happy to wake up with his arms around him the next morning.

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. (This is the end of the fic! Below are the endnotes! Moved them to the body of the fic cuz they got too long for the other box! see below! :) )

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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

OKAY THAT’S ALL FROM THEM I SWEAR. But everyone else please feel free to write cute highschool AUs, I love them!

Points if you caught the Titanic reference.

Also PSA: Always have an STD talk before sex without a condom even if it’s someone you’ve started dating! These two are dumb.

FYI my headcanon for the future of this verse (that I'm not gonna write but just to share if anyone’s interested) -

They date all year and are super cute. Brock goes to watch all the dance team shows. They go to Brock's prom together. They're careful about it like they don't make out on the dancefloor or anything but they go together.

Brock goes to National Ballet School in Toronto Jose’s senior year of high school.

They try to do long distance and it doesn’t work. Jose is planning to move up to Toronto when he graduates high school, “They got MAC counters there too. What? Bitches in Canada don’t buy MAC?” but he hasn't really thought through getting a visa. Brock is overwhelmed by this whole new world of freedom and meeting new people at NBS, all these new gay guys, discovering gay nightlife, and he wants to explore and experience everything, all this freedom he's never had.

When he comes back to Florida for Thanksgiving he's already so different, more confident and flirty than he ever was in high school. With Jose one on one but also with friends and strangers. A magnetic air is developing around him, as he grows into his own gorgeous skin. Enjoying attention more openly in a way he used to shy away from before. His sense of humor gets drier and shadier.

It's really jarring for Jose who has been in the same environment his whole life and wasn't expecting his boyfriend to come back different, knowing all these new things, making jokes he doesn't understand, telling him about all these sex things they have to try. He wants to do it all, wants to learn everything with Brock, just like they always have, but it's an adjustment to get used to. A little scary and intimidating.

He used to feel like he knew Brock better than anyone. Like of the two of them he was the confident one who was teaching Brock everything. Brock's entire gay world began and ended with him. Now Brock is this mysterious exotic college dancer who knows these grown up things and is telling Jose stuff he's never heard of with a daring sparkle in his eyes. Brock used to follow him around like a lost kitten eager to be petted, shown what to do. Now he's becoming this cat with opinions and claws that brushes up against you and wants to go off exploring leaving you wondering where it is. Jose has to watch for moments of familiar softness to remind himself it's still his Brock. He clings to them in relief, and tries to ignore the things he doesn't like or understand. Tells himself it's going to be okay. That maybe he'll get all cool and shady when he moves to Toronto too and they'll fit perfectly together again. He'll become whatever he needs to fit with Brock, to feel close again. That's the only thing that's important. Anything else, he can handle.

When Brock goes back after Thanksgiving they keep growing apart. They do their best to keep in touch. Brock starts missing phone calls and Skypes because he's practicing or hanging with new friends and loses track of time. He texts quick apologies and they reschedule. Jose is ready to have full text conversations most evenings like they used to, bored and avoiding homework. But when he tries to start them Brock is slow at responding and his replies are short, not asking questions back. He's always doing stuff, never has enough time.

When they do talk it's always so nice for Brock to see his boyfriend. They can still talk about anything and Jose always puts a huge smile on Brock's face. But he starts to really feel how much they're growing apart. Jose seems so young and familiar and Brock wants to know what else is out there, wants to experience everything. He loves his boyfriend when he sees him but he forgets to miss him when he doesn't. He's so busy. And he's getting to know so many new gay boys, who all know he's gay too. Interesting artistic beautiful boys who have lived fascinating different lives, who are ballet dancers like him and can lift him like a prima ballerina if they want to.

Jose’s mom takes him up to visit Brock in Toronto and it’s a big deal, they have to save up to afford the trip, but it's worth it to Anabell because her sweet baby boy is so in love, and on that trip Brock breaks up with him. He was waiting to see him to do it, didn't want to do it over the phone.

It’s super sad, he really breaks his heart, even more this time because it’s first love, they’d been dating a year and a half, had all their firsts together. He breaks his own heart a little too, even though he knows it's the best decision for them now, because he still loves him too and because seeing Jose upset cuts him deeply and knowing it's because of him hurts even sharper.

Brock says he loves him so much but they met each other too early, they need to explore everything first, live their lives, develop as their own people. Brock in particular was so sheltered and his mind is being blown being out in the big wide world. Plus long distance especially is impossible. By this time he's heard of Ballet Trocadero and that's becoming his new goal so he knows he wants to travel and would Jose follow him there too? How would that work? Trying to stay together feels like prolonging the inevitable, starts to feel like he's trapped. (This is also a couple years ago, before everyone had modern iPhones. You'd have to get on a computer to Skype.)

He tells Jose he wants to be free and Jose should be free to follow his own dream too, not have to be in a city just because Brock is there. He should follow his dream to go dance for Alexis Mateo in Orlando. Jose says, “Dreams can change. You were my dream,” all sad.

So yeah they break up and it’s really sad and then their lives play out similar to RL. Jose still moves to another city for another boyfriend, ready to give up drag, give up everything because that's what he's like when he's in love, he puts it ahead of anything else. He still moves in with Alexis when that doesn't work out. Brock sees Jose around at pageants as Alexis’ dancer and they have awkward catch up hellos. After season 10 Brock still sends Jose a message but it’s telling him how proud he is of him. Jose still doesn’t respond.

Then they’re both on season 11. Vanjie's jaw drops when Brooke Lynne comes in. Instead of the watching Miss Brooke get out of drag y'all talking head we get:

V: Me and Brooke Lynne went to high school together. Y'all we used to watch Drag Race together, now we here, Mary. We used to be real close.

cut to, B: Vanjie was my first boyfriend. He was my first everything. He’s a very special person. I mean everyone knows that now but he was always very very special to me. I haven't had a boyfriend since, actually. We drifted apart. We haven’t really spoken in a while so it'll be nice getting to spend some time together. I definitely miss him. He’s amazing.

V: Do I miss him? What do you think? You can see him. Would you miss that?

(Footage of B de-dragging, them catching eyes across the room, catching each other looking)

V: I can’t be thinking bout whether I miss this or that or the other, bitch, I gotta focus on the competition. I ain't gotta miss him now, he right here. We ain't see each other in a long time obviously there was a lotta feelings involved so... I'm just tryna focus on the competition Mary. I don't wanna get all discom- dispro- discombobulmalated. I’m thinking with this, not this or this. Y'all, I ain’t going home.

And then they have the same comforting/kiss moment in Orange Alert's Untucked and the rest is history…

...OR ignore all this and just enjoy the idea of them being cute soft boys! Ha.

Who knows, maybe Brock turned down ballet school and stayed in Orlando and they became drag queens together. And were the first ever couple on the same season! And had a double crowning! And got their own talk show after!

Okay that's enough of my head canons, truly hope you enjoyed! This universe is so fun to write!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I wasn't gonna write any more in this verse but apparently I'm a liar because here is a tiny oneshot. 
> 
> This has nothing to do with anything. It is very silly and self indulgent and short and is 100% inspired by the picture of [this hat](https://twitter.com/Bhytes1/status/1161416891124060161).
> 
> Warning for me possibly taking liberties with how naive a sheltered Canadian teen boy can be but it tickles me so it's happening.

“Oh my God. Brock, boy, _what_ is that hat?"

Brock’s stomach drops at the judgement thick in Britnee’s voice, the tease in her tone. 

He was so excited to come back from the long weekend and show off his new hat. He felt cool strutting down the hallway in it towards his friends, but now he immediately wants to shrink and hide, doubt flooding his guts, as the girls cackle with laughter at him. 

"Chil' _what is on your head?_ " Nikea actually has to clutch her side she's laughing so hard. She whoops with it, wiping her eyes.

“What?” Brock asks cautiously, neck dipping down into his raised shoulders, fingers drifting up to touch the brim softly, nervously. 

“What’s wrong with it? Is it not…cool?”

He thought it was cool. His mom told him he looked great when she got it for him and watched him try it on. She called him her handsome boy and took photos. 

As he watches them laugh he realizes maybe therein lay the problem.

The girls start nudging him, slapping their thighs, shouting, “Yeehaw!” and "Howdy, Brocky!" miming galloping around on invisible horses and Brock blushes so hot he can feel his cheeks burn, his heart racing. 

These are his _friends_ and they’re teasing him _hard_. What will other people say? If he’s getting it this bad from friends he dreads the reaction of people who don’t even like him. 

His thumb toys with the straw brim self-consciously.

He hasn’t been in the friendship group long. He thinks they’ve started to like him in his own right but he takes a while to completely stop feeling shy with new people, to reveal his full sarcastic, goofy, fun self. He's pretty quiet usually anyway, compared to how vivacious the girls are. And they only became his friends because of his boyfriend. What if this hat makes them change their mind about him? What if it’s so uncool he won’t be allowed to hang out with them anymore? 

He can’t go back to having no friends in Florida.

Not now he knows how much more bearable it is with friends.

At least he’d still have Jose.

 _Oh God._ What if this hat is so uncool his very cool and fashionable boyfriend breaks up with him?

He almost tears it right off his head at that thought but his pride stops him. He straightens subconsciously, drops his hand to his side and squares his shoulders.

Does it really look that bad? Maybe the girls are wrong.

Maybe he looks awesome, like a sexy Southern man.

He felt so cool strutting around his room in it this morning. Like a model. Tipping the brim forward and smiling at himself in the mirror, practicing seductive eyes. He was sure everyone was gonna be impressed. He knows he’s a bit out of touch with mainstream culture from the upbringing he’s had but is he really that bad at being able to tell what’s cool?

“What y'all cacklin about, whores?"

The gravelly self-assured voice of his boyfriend rolling up late and leisurely sends relief washing through Brock. 

Jose will tell him the truth. He wouldn’t let Brock look stupid. 

The girls part to make space for Jose and he appears in the middle of the group. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he sees Brock.

He doesn’t make fun like they did but his mouth twists like he’s holding in a laugh. 

“Does it look bad?” Brock asks, earnest and worried, adjusting the brim. "Am I uncool?"

Jose's eyebrows shoot even higher, his eyes as wide as they can go, almost cartoon-like.

“It's great baby! Looks real cute,” he answers very quickly.

Too quickly. 

He shoots a warning look at the spluttering girls around him. Steps closer to grab Brock’s hand and links their fingers, squeezing reassuringly. His short nails are dark red today. He smiles up at Brock warmly, glances around to check who’s nearby and darts up to press a quick soft kiss against Brock’s mouth. 

Brock kisses back, his heart flipping. Whatever happens with the hat at least it isn’t so bad that his boyfriend doesn’t like him anymore. 

“Sure it do, cowboy,” Deanna teases, and the girls dissolve into laughing at him again, Deanna doing more "Yeehaw"s until Jose elbows her sharply in the stomach.

“Ow, bitch,” she shouts, doubling over involuntarily, and wow Jose really went for her hard. He wasn’t playing. 

He shoots Britnee, who’s still openly giggling, a glare like he’s gonna set her on fire. His hand that isn’t holding Brock’s curls into a fist. 

Nikea and Alesha have taken the hint and are trying to swallow their laughter. Amaris is hiccuping from trying to suppress giggles.

“Shut the hell up, bitches,” he snaps warningly, little fist clenching and unclenching tight. 

Britnee quiets considerably under his glare but can’t help a little leftover giggle slipping out. 

“Bitch that shit is _corny_. You can’t say we ain’t allowed to call that dorky ass head piece out just cuz he your man.”

Brock winces, stomach sinking, at the frank assessment of his hat, but he’s distracted by the bubbling rage in Jose next to him. The air around his little body seems to vibrate with it. 

“I can say whatever the fuck I want, bitch. Where your loyalty at?” Jose’s head whips into a tilt with blunt defiance, blinking aggressively fast, going from 0 to 100 almost immediately. 

"He ain't just my man. He _your_ friend."

He gestures erractically with both hands. Brock's hand linked with Jose’s gets tugged around as he sinks down into his shoulders, wishing he could make himself even smaller and hide completely under his hat.

He hates confrontation at the best of times. It's even worse that he's the topic of it. Almost more embarrassing than his friends laughing at his hat. _Almost_.

"Be a friend, ho. You ain't ride or die, you ain't fuckin with us," Jose snaps.

"You ain’t got _shit_ to say bout my man. Just cuz your ho ass don't got a man," he's gesturing so close to Britnee's face Brock is scared he'll slap her.

He tugs lightly on Jose's hand and Jose's body listens to him immediately, pulling back. But he's still stewing at Brock's side.

Jose stands next to Brock and his nostrils flare like a baby dragon. He clicks his tongue, giving poor Britnee the dirtiest of looks. 

“Y’all wanna talk about lame, bitch, how bout we talk bout that bucket hat you wore last year to winter formal ho? If we talkin corny. Neon yellow faux fur? Now _that_ ain’t a cute hat, ya Big Bird lookin whore.”

Everyone is laughing again, this time not at Brock and he feels relief that Jose always jumps to his defense so sharply, the safety of being out of the firing line, even as he feels bad for Britnee, whose face falls. She has very long slim legs and kind of a pointy nose, both of which she’s self conscious about, which makes the shade even more cuttingly personal.

It's not really Jose's style to get mean and personal with an attack like that. Brock feels a little bad it's probably his fault he's going for the jugular.

Since the day he met Jose _nobody_ messes with Brock in the slightest without getting their ass absolutely handed to them by his firecracker boyfriend.

He feels a little bad for Britnee but guiltily more relieved that it's not him being made fun of anymore. 

“Yeah well, you’ve worn some dumb shit too Jose,” Britnee snaps back defensively, shaken as the group's laughter turns on her, suddenly vulnerable. 

“Nah I ain’t. I look good, bitch,” Jose sasses, the understatement of the century. 

He’s wearing a tight black mesh tee today with tight black jeans and a black velvet choker. Through the mesh of the shirt you can see not only his silver chains but also most of his nipples. Brock thinks he looks mouthwatering in this - and amazing all the time - but he sometimes can’t believe the things his boyfriend gets away with wearing to school. 

When Jose says he looks good he tosses his head like it’s the final word on the matter. His eyes flare and dart around all the girls in a challenge and no one argues. 

No one wants to get on his bad side or be singled out for ridicule. He’s the unspoken Queen Bee of the group and sweet as he can be most of the time, he’s got a dazzlingly quick wit, a razor sharp tongue when he needs to, and a fiery temper that won’t quit when he’s defending someone he cares about. 

Besides, life is just better when Jose loves you. 

“You ain't really gonna let him wear that shit all day though?” Deanna asks gently, wary of turning Jose’s ire in her direction. Sounding more genuinely concerned for Brock than mocking. 

Jose clicks his tongue at her dismissively and turns to Brock fiercely, eyes blazing.

“It’s cute baby. These bitches don’t know shit. You wear whatever the fuck you want. If I haveta tell every bitch in school, I’ma tell 'em.”

Brock is touched by his kindness, inwardly swooning at his boyfriend defending him. At the way his tiny adorable force of nature boyfriend can command these beautiful girls with huge personalities, some of the coolest girls in school, to agree to whatever he wants. At the way he makes Brock feel safe in this intense Florida school, like there'll always be someone on his side.

But Brock feels more unsure about the hat than ever. 

He adjusts the brim again, turning his head side to side and pouting at his dull blurry reflection in a nearby locker, trying to decide what to do. 

"We was only playin babe. It looks...cute. Real cute," Alesha says somewhat unconvincingly, linking her arm through Brock's. Obviously trying to score points with Jose, who beams at her, giving a little nod of approval that makes her pleased. 

"Yeah, all...rustic and shit..." Amaris adds, hugging Brock's other arm, clearly struggling for something positive to say and wanting her own approving nod. 

"You do you baby," Nikea shrugs, applying lip gloss. One of the more confident girls in the group, she still looks faintly amused, but largely unbothered. 

The bell rings and Mrs Hanson walks by and shoos them to break up their lingering group. They start ambling slowly toward class. 

Jose lets the others go ahead and tugs on Brock’s hand, waiting until they’re a few paces behind everyone, looking up at him in deep turmoil, voice soft. 

“I ain’t sayin it ain’t cute. You look real sexy baby. You know you always do. But…” his voice gets quieter, expression pained,

“...maybe take it off while we in school boo,” he says very quietly, reluctantly, chewing on his lip, like it’s physically painful to him to even hint at being critical of anything about Brock. 

So that’s a no on the hat then. 

Brock sighs, a little disappointed. 

Oh well. He can still enjoy wearing it alone in his room. He already does that with flowy fabric when he’s being a woman. Now he can do it with being a cowboy too.

It’s more pressing that he apparently has no concept of what’s appropriately cool to wear to school.

Jose tugs him closer, leans up and says low and warm in his ear, 

“You can wear it for me after school though. Do it right 'n' I might ride you, cowboy.” 

He winks, bumps Brock’s hip with his, smiles wickedly, eyes sparkling with promise.

Brock blushes immediately, ducking his head and smiling softly to himself as his heart pounds and he feels a stirring in inconvenient _places_. 

Jose sashays away ahead of Brock, putting intentional extra sway in his hips.

Brock feels a lot better about the hat. Warmth spreads from his guts to his fingertips. He knows he's smiling goofily as he watches his boyfriend walk away.

Maybe he’ll get to use one of those seductive hat tipping looks he practised after all, later.

As his brain fills with images of what later might look like Brock is left with no choice but to take the hat off because he has to use it to hide his sudden boner.

Jose’s eyes glitter at him over his shoulder, blowing a kiss as he struts down the hall to his first period. 

From a distance Brock sees him link arms with Britnee, his face soft and sincere, and he can tell he’s already apologizing for popping off at her so viciously. 

Who knew a straw hat would cause such a reaction? 

Brock resolves to text Jose a picture to check first the next time he plans on wearing something new to school. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw!
> 
> *Poppedthep gets on invisible horse and gallops off to stop procrastinating on work*
> 
> ///
> 
> (Also, completely unrelated to this fic but this is the only place I can talk to people (!) Bennitone on tumblr I can't find your asks/anons to say it there for some reason but thank you for the sweet appreciation post :) So glad you are getting continued enjoyment from them and if they ease even one little bit of pain that makes me super happy!)
> 
> .
> 
> I am really struggling with loss of work due to COVID 19. If you enjoyed this story, or any of my writing (or hate it but feel like doing something nice today!) please consider [sending me a digital cup of coffee](https://poppedthep.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If even half the people who see this did it, it would make a huge difference! 
> 
> If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s cool. People here are the best. You are totally welcome to continue enjoying my stories no matter what!


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